Читать книгу Will You Love Me?: The story of my adopted daughter Lucy - Cathy Glass, Cathy Glass - Страница 14

Doris was in her late thirties and an experienced social worker with two children of her own. She had a good working relationship with Bonnie’s health visitor, who was also a qualified nurse. Doris trusted her opinion, so that if she had concerns about a client and made a referral, it was acted on immediately. Doris had wanted to visit Bonnie and Lucy the day before, but with an emergency child-protection case conference in the morning and then having to place five siblings in foster homes in the afternoon, the day had disappeared. Now she was calling on Bonnie first thing the following morning. It was 9.30 a.m. when she rang the doorbell. Doris wasn’t expecting Bonnie to be up and dressed – not many of her clients were at this time – so she rang the bell a second time.

A minute later the door to the flat next door opened and an elderly lady poked her head out. ‘You the social?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ Doris said with a smile, wondering why it was so obvious.

‘Good. That baby’s been crying far too much for my liking, but the mother don’t talk to me,’ the neighbour said, and then disappeared back inside, closing the front door. Doris pressed the bell to Bonnie’s flat again, more determined than ever to gain entry. If the mother didn’t answer then she’d call back later, and if there was still no response she’d return with a court order and the police.

Giving the bell another push, Doris stooped so she was at eye-level with the letter box and peered in. Her view was blocked by a draught excluder, so she tried calling through the letter box: ‘Bonnie, love, are you in? My name’s Doris. I’m a social worker. Can we have a chat please, love? Nothing for you to worry about.’ Doris knew from experience that you didn’t go straight in talking about child-protection issues if you could help it. Sometimes it was unavoidable – if a child was in danger and had to be removed – but in cases like this it was likely that Bonnie could be helped with support and monitoring.

Straightening, Doris pressed the bell again and waited. A few moments later she heard the lock turn, and then the door opened. ‘Hello, love,’ she said, smiling. ‘Are you Bonnie?’

The young woman nodded. Dressed in a crumpled T-shirt and shorts, with her hair dishevelled, she’d clearly just stumbled out of bed. ‘What do you want?’ she asked defensively.

‘I’m a social worker. I’d just like to have a chat to make sure that you and your baby are OK, and that you’re accessing everything you’re entitled to. Your health visitor asked me to drop by. I work with her,’ she added. The health visitor had told Doris that while there were no obvious signs that baby Lucy was being physically abused, the level of care she was receiving fell below an acceptable standard and was bordering on neglect – although Doris wouldn’t be saying that yet.

‘Can I come in?’ Doris asked with another smile.

Clearly resenting the intrusion, the young mother stood aside and Doris stepped into the short hall, where a bag of rubbish was waiting to be taken out. She closed the front door behind her. She couldn’t hear a baby crying, but there was a strong smell of soiled nappies.

‘You can sit in there while I get her up,’ Bonnie said grudgingly, nodding towards the door to the living room, while she opened the door to the bedroom.

‘It’s all right. I’ll come with you,’ Doris said brightly. ‘We can talk while you see to your baby.’ A less experienced social worker might have sat in the living room and waited for the mother to return, thereby missing the opportunity to see more of the client’s home and how they related to their child or children.

As Doris followed Bonnie into the bedroom she took in the rumpled double bed with only one pillow, seeming to confirm what Bonnie had told the health visitor: that she had no partner or live-in boyfriend. Doris also saw the pile of dirty laundry in one corner, the overflowing clutter on the windowsill, which was being used as a shelf, and the cot against the wall where the baby sat in silence, holding onto the bars and staring out like a little caged animal.

‘What a lovely baby,’ Doris said, joining Bonnie at the cot and trying to put the mother at ease. She could feel Bonnie’s hostility and it wouldn’t help in building a relationship. ‘Her name’s Lucy, isn’t it?’

Bonnie nodded, reached into the cot and lifted out her daughter. Doris noticed the toys in the cot – the infant activity centre and rattle. That was positive, she thought. But she also saw that the baby’s sleep suit was saturated, as was the cot bedding, and there was a strong smell of faeces and ammonia, suggesting that Lucy had been in the same nappy for a long time. She watched as Bonnie laid Lucy on the bed and then, taking a roll of toilet paper from the windowsill, began removing Lucy’s sleep suit. Doris saw the baby stiffen and brace herself, as though she was expecting pain. Having removed the wet and soiled nappy, Bonnie tore off a strip of toilet paper and began cleaning Lucy’s red raw bottom. The baby cried out and Doris looked at Bonnie expecting a reaction. There was none. The mother seemed impervious to her daughter’s distress and continued cleaning Lucy’s bottom with strips of dry toilet paper without trying to soothe her in any way.

‘Don’t you have any baby wipes or cream for her bottom?’ Doris asked, as Bonnie reached for a clean nappy.

‘No, I ran out.’

‘You need to get some more, and a pot of antiseptic barrier cream from the chemist today. Or go to your doctor for a prescription. You’re on benefit so the medication will be free. As soon as you can,’ Doris added. ‘Her little bottom’s very sore and causing her a lot of distress.’

Bonnie gave a tight nod and picked up her daughter, who had now stopped crying. She carried her into the living room. Doris followed. She wasn’t worried that Lucy was wearing only a vest and nappy as it was June and the flat was warm. However, she was concerned by the lack of interaction between mother and baby. At ten and a half months of age a baby would normally be seeking out its mother’s attention, but Lucy didn’t, and the most likely explanation was that she’d been ignored for so long that she’d given up trying to engage with her mother, and so far the mother had made no attempt to engage with her daughter. She held her, but didn’t talk to her or make eye contact.

Doris noted that the living room was very bare considering a mother and child lived there. Two old chairs and a chipped coffee table were the only furniture, and there were no toys in this room apart from a heap of plastic building bricks in one corner. Clutter free and unlived in, it suggested to Doris that mother and daughter were either out a lot or lived mainly in the bedroom, possibly staying in bed for most of the day if the mother was very depressed, as the health visitor had thought. Doris sat in one of the chairs and Bonnie sat in the other, setting Lucy on the floor. As soon as Lucy was down she went onto her hands and knees and began a slow and cumbersome crawl across the room towards Doris. Doris took some comfort from seeing this, for she hadn’t crawled while the health visitor had been present, and babies who are severely neglected often fail to meet this developmental milestone, remaining like newborn infants from being left in their cot all day.

‘She’s doing well with her crawling,’ Doris said encouragingly, taking a notepad and pen from her bag.

Bonnie nodded.

‘You are a clever girl,’ Doris said, smiling at Lucy. Lucy stared back, her large eyes unresponsive. ‘Is she trying to pull herself up into a standing position yet?’ Doris then asked Bonnie. This would be one of the next developmental milestones and was often achieved by babies of Lucy’s age.

‘No,’ Bonnie said, fiddling with her hair.

‘I expect she will soon,’ Doris said positively, making a note. ‘What does Lucy like to eat?’

‘The health visitor asked me that,’ Bonnie said resentfully. ‘I told her – milk, yoghurt and porridge.’

Doris nodded. ‘And I believe the health visitor suggested some new foods for Lucy to try?’

Bonnie nodded again.

‘Good. We’ll have a look in your kitchen later and you can show me what you’re planning to eat today.’

‘I haven’t been shopping yet,’ Bonnie said tersely. ‘That health visitor was only here a few days ago.’

Three days, Doris thought; plenty of time to go shopping and to start implementing the health visitor’s suggestions for feeding Lucy. She glanced down at Lucy who, having arrived at her chair, was sitting quietly at her feet like an attentive puppy.

‘Hello, love,’ she said to Lucy, with a smile. But the look on Lucy’s face was pretty much the same as her mother’s – suspicious and watchful.

‘It’s very difficult bringing up a child on your own,’ Doris said, returning her attention to Bonnie. ‘Do you have any family living close by who can help you?’ She was aware that this referral had come from a doctor after an aunt of Bonnie’s had expressed concerns.

‘No,’ Bonnie said.

‘You were living with an aunt?’ Doris asked.

‘For a while. But she has family of her own.’

‘And your mother and father?’

‘I don’t see them.’

‘Do they live locally?’

‘No.’

Doris made notes as she talked, all the while wearing a smile and trying to put the mother at ease. However, although she was smiling, she was quickly forming the impression, as the health visitor had done, that all was far from well here; that the mother could be very depressed and, as a result, was neglecting her child.

‘Have you been able to find Lucy’s record book showing her checks and vaccinations?’ Doris now asked, for when the health visitor had asked to see it Bonnie had said she wasn’t sure where it was and that she’d try to find it. She’d also told the health visitor she couldn’t remember if Lucy’s development checks and vaccinations were up-to-date, which had added to the health visitor’s concerns.

‘No,’ Bonnie said. ‘I can’t find the record book.’

‘All right, don’t worry. Your previous doctor will have a record of all of that. We’ll arrange to have your notes transferred to your current doctor. This is your permanent address now?’

Bonnie nodded.

‘So what was the name and address of your last doctor?’ Doris now asked, pen poised to note this.

‘I can’t remember,’ Bonnie said, biting her little nail.

‘A street name and town will do. We can trace it from that.’

‘I don’t know,’ Bonnie said again. ‘I’ll find out.’

Doris knew it was impossible not to know the name of the town that you’d lived in a few months previously, unless you had severe learning difficulties, which Bonnie did not. She wondered what it was that Bonnie was trying to hide or run away from.

‘Do you know the name of the hospital where Lucy was born?’ Doris now asked. ‘They’ll have details of your doctor.’

‘St Mary’s, I think,’ Bonnie said.

‘In which town?’

Bonnie shrugged and continued to nibble her little finger. St Mary’s was the most common name for a hospital and Doris knew it would be impossible to trace the one where Lucy was born without knowing the town or at least the area. Bonnie was playing games with her.

‘It can be very isolating living in a new town with a young baby,’ Doris said evenly, changing direction. ‘I understand the health visitor gave you some details of the mother and baby groups in this area.’

‘Yes,’ Bonnie said.

‘Do you think these are somewhere you might go? It would be good for Lucy’s development and will also give you a chance to meet other young mothers and make some friends.’

‘Yes,’ Bonnie said.

‘And how do you feel in yourself?’ Doris now asked.

‘OK,’ Bonnie said with a shrug.

‘Are you sure? You seem a bit down to me.’

‘I’m fine. I’m coping.’

‘Only coping?’ Doris asked, hoping this might lead the way in, but Bonnie just looked back and nodded.

‘Can you talk me through your average day, from when you get up in the morning?’ Doris said.

Bonnie looked at her.

‘Start with when you get up?’ Doris prompted. ‘What time is that usually?’ She knew that those suffering from severe depression often stayed in bed for very long periods, sometimes most of the day.

‘About now I guess,’ Bonnie said.

‘Then what happens? Do you shower and dress or go back to bed?’

‘We have breakfast,’ Bonnie said.

‘Lovely,’ Doris said, trying to give positive feedback wherever she could. ‘What do you have?’

‘Lucy has milk and I have a cup of tea.’

‘Nothing else?’

‘I give Lucy porridge as well.’

‘Good. Has she had her porridge this morning?’

‘No, only milk. You came before I had time to give her porridge,’ Bonnie said.

Doris wrote and then smiled at Lucy.

‘Then what do you do after breakfast?’ she asked, looking at Bonnie.

Bonnie shrugged. ‘Nothing really. We go out sometimes.’

‘Where do you like to go?’

‘To the shops sometimes, or the canal. I walk by the canal. I like it there, with the deep water.’ Doris gave an involuntary shudder and made a note, for in her present state of mind it wouldn’t take much, she thought, for this young mother who clearly wasn’t coping to step into the canal with her daughter and end it all. She agreed with the health visitor that while there were no obvious signs that the mother was harming her child, the level of care was so low that this in itself was a form of abuse. Mother and baby needed help.

‘What do you do for the rest of the day?’ Doris now asked.

‘We come home.’

‘And?’

Bonnie shook her head.

‘Why don’t you see your aunt any more?’ Doris asked. ‘She’s been worried about you.’

‘I dunno. She has her own family.’

‘But she’d still like to see you as well. Do you think you might be able to start seeing her again? Go round for dinner? She’d like you to.’

Bonnie nodded, but not very convincingly.

Doris glanced at Lucy, who was looking up at her, her large eyes round and imploring. ‘Can I pick her up?’ Doris asked. She knew better than to simply pick up a client’s child, without asking the parent first. Social workers were often seen as the enemy and she wouldn’t be the first social worker to be assaulted for touching a client’s child.

Bonnie gave a stiff, indifferent nod and Doris bent down and lifted Lucy onto her lap. She was light, Doris thought, lighter than she should be for ten and a half months old. She hadn’t had a bath and was wearing the same vest, so there was still a smell of ammonia coming from Lucy, which would probably transfer to her skirt, but she kept a change of clothes in the car for just such eventualities; that, and having drinks or worse thrown at her by angry parents.

‘Who’s a lovely girl then?’ Doris said to Lucy.

Lucy looked at her but didn’t smile.

‘Is she smiling and trying to talk?’ Doris asked, glancing at Bonnie.

‘Yes,’ Bonnie said. ‘Sometimes,’ although there’d been no evidence of either since Doris had been with her.

‘Come on then,’ Doris said cheerfully to them both, standing. ‘Show me around your flat. Let’s start with the kitchen.’

‘There’s nothing much to see,’ Bonnie said, rising to her feet with a small sigh.

‘Never mind. I just need to have a quick look round.’

It was clear that the nature of the social worker’s visit had changed from ‘a chat’ to a scrutinizing assessment, and Doris could sense that Bonnie was trying to stifle her rising fear that she was about to lose her baby.

‘I’m going shopping later,’ Bonnie said, as they entered the small kitchen.

Doris opened the door of the fridge, revealing only a carton of milk and two yoghurts. She then opened the doors to the cupboards, but all they contained were some crockery and pans supplied by the landlord, and a packet of porridge, some biscuits and a few tea bags.

‘What does Lucy drink from?’ Doris asked. ‘Can she use a trainer cup?’

‘No. She has a bottle. It’s in her cot,’ Bonnie said.

Still carrying Lucy, Doris left the kitchen, had a quick look in the bathroom, which, while basic, was functional, and then returned to the living room. Doris passed Lucy to Bonnie and they returned to their chairs. Doris looked at Bonnie carefully.

‘I have concerns, love,’ she said evenly. ‘I think Lucy isn’t doing as well as she could, and I think you are finding things difficult too. I want to help you.’ She paused and waited for Bonnie’s reaction, but there was none. ‘When I return to my office I’m going to arrange what’s called a case conference so I can work out how best to support you and Lucy. Don’t look so worried, I’m not going to take Lucy away. But you will need to make some changes, all right, love?’

Bonnie nodded. ‘I know,’ she said, though by now she sounded like she’d agree to anything just to get rid of Doris.

‘One of the options might be for you and Lucy to live in a mother-and-baby unit for a while, where you will be shown parenting skills and monitored. Or – and I will need to discuss this with my manager – you could stay here with support. You’d be monitored and assessed and would need to attend parenting classes.’

Bonnie nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said.

‘Good. I’ll go now and I’ll phone you later today, after I’ve discussed the options with my manager. Can I have your phone number please?’

Bonnie reeled off eleven digits as Doris wrote.

‘Thanks,’ Doris said with a reassuring smile. ‘I’ll leave the two of you to have your porridge now and we’ll speak later.’

Bonnie nodded and, carrying Lucy, went with Doris to the front door and saw her out. As Doris left the building she was already calling her office. Although she wouldn’t be taking Lucy into care today, the mother would need to start cooperating and making some changes, otherwise she’d have no alternative but to apply to the court for a care order. While this wasn’t the worst case of neglect Doris had seen – far from it – she agreed with the health visitor that the warning signs were there, and without intervention she had little doubt Lucy’s situation would deteriorate further.

Three hours later, having spoken with her manager, Doris phoned Bonnie to arrange a meeting. An automated voice message told her the number was unobtainable, so Doris concluded that Bonnie had either accidentally or deliberately given her the wrong number. As Bonnie and Lucy’s case wasn’t the most urgent she was responsible for, and her caseload was so heavy she had to prioritize, Doris set in motion the case conference and then put Bonnie’s file to one side to concentrate on another, more pressing case. She decided to call in on Bonnie on her way home from work, check the phone number and advise her of the date of the meeting. It would also give her another chance to see how they were doing.

When Doris returned to Bonnie’s flat at 5.45 p.m. and rang the bell there was no reply. She was about to call through the letter box when the door to the flat next door opened and the elderly lady Doris had seen that morning appeared.

‘She’s gone,’ the woman said bluntly, as if it was Doris’s fault. ‘Packed her bags and left with the baby about an hour after you left this morning.’

‘I don’t suppose you know where they’ve gone?’ Doris asked, her heart sinking.

‘No. Like I said, she never spoke to me.’ And, returning inside, she closed her front door.